


Do I want to know?

by Ellabee15



Series: Woman of color fics [12]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8559973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellabee15/pseuds/Ellabee15
Summary: Joan should have learned by now not to ask questions. In fact it's something she repeats after every bizarre and often disturbing response Sherlock gives her. He claims it's her natural detective instincts. She's sure that it's a sign of impending insanity. Drabbles involving the weird goings on in the brownstone.





	1. Chapter 1

Joan should have learned by now not to ask questions. In fact it's something she repeats after every bizarre and often disturbing response Sherlock gives her. He claims it's her natural detective instincts. She's sure that it's a sign of impending insanity. She should have learned, but here she is standing in the doorway of the brownstone, trying to understand the scene in front of her. 

"I know I'm going to regret this..." She said, "but what?" She waved her hand in the general direction of the living room. "is this?" 

Sherlock was hanging upside down, chained and handcuffed on a spreader bar with a dominatrix holding a whip behind him. 

"I am simply attempting to put myself in the victim's head." Sherlock replied. "Plus, I find a good flogging session gets my blood flowing." He looked over at her. "Would you like to join?" 

She walked away. "Next time, keep the S&M out of the common areas." She called over her shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

Joan blinked her eyes open and rolled over, staring at the ceiling. He'd found creative ways to wake her up before, but this was definitely a step too far. It was 5 am. Groaning slightly, she took a deep breath, preparing herself to shout. 

"SHERLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK." She shouted, swinging her legs out of bed. Padding out of her room, she went down the stairs. The sound of chanting that had woken her got louder with each step. The living room was strangely dark. Sherlock had apparently blocked out the windows with black curtains. Joan rubbed her eyes and frowned as she looked at the candles that were all around the living room. As she stepped inside, she found Sherlock, sitting shirtless and cross-legged, in the center of a circle made of salt. 

"I haven't had enough coffee for this." She said. 

"Do not despair, Watson." He said, opening an eye and looking in her direction. "I have not joined a cult." 

Joan walked towards the kitchen. "That was going to be my third question." She said. "The first one being why? and the second, could it have waited until after sunrise?" 

"I am simply recreating the ceremony that our killer set up to pose his would be victim in. I-" 

Joan held up her hand. "Just...tell me if you find anything." She mumbled. "Just one thing." She walked over to the stereo and turned off the chanting. "That way I can sleep."


	3. Chapter 3

Joan walked into the living room of the brownstone and immediately walked out. "No."

"You haven't even asked what I'm doing." Sherlock called after her.

"Let me guess." Joan poked her head into the room. "Everyone."

Sherlock was wearing a bright purple tutu and was holding out a matching lime green one. "They have asked me to learn a pas de deux from the Nutcracker."

"And you're debating which tutu to wear." She shook her head. "The green one brings out your eyes."

"It's a pas de deux." Sherlock said.

Joan gave him an annoyed look. "I took Spanish in high school."

"It means-"

"I know what it means." Joan cut him off. "But I refuse to acknowledge what you're implying."

"Watson, if Everyone doesn't receive payment, they won't help me." He said. "I've looked the dance steps up on Youtube. It's not the skill, but the-"

"Find someone else." Joan turned and walked away. When she came back downstairs later, she had to smother a laugh as Marcus tugged at the lime green tutu. He saw her and wagged a finger at her.

"Tell anyone and-"

She shook her head. "Nobody needs to know."


	4. Chapter 4

Joan and Marcus had chased a suspect through a sanitation plant and she smelled like it. Shuffling into the brownstone, she braced herself for Sherlock's reaction. The sleuth had found a way to avoid taking part in this aspect of the search and though there was no possible way, Joan suspected he'd known something like this would happen. He'd probably had a way better day. 

"Before you say anything, I need to burn these clothes." She walked in...then paused at the bottom of the stairs. Sherlock was sitting on the ground wearing a clown costume eating pizza out of a box in front of him. 

"I was undercover." He said. 

"Huh." Joan replied. 

He held out a slice. "Pepperoni?" 

Joan shook her head. "I think I need a shower first." She pointed up the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

"I shall defeat you." Sherlock declared, looking at his laptop screen. 

Sitting across the table from him, Joan arched an eyebrow as she lifted her mug to her lips and took a sip. Sherlock cleared his throat. 

"Aren't you going to ask-" 

"I don't become curious about anything until I've finished my first cup of coffee." Joan replied. 

"I am going to vanquish a troll on the internet." Sherlock declared. 

Joan looked at him blankly and slowly put down her mug. "You do realize the internet is a dark and horrible place." 

"Yes." Sherlock grumbled. 

"And that trolls are not, in fact, real trolls but terrible people who've been emboldened by the anonymity of the internet." She continued. "There's no bridge to look under or magic sword to slay them." 

Sherlock was no longer listening. "Laugh all you want, Watson, but I shall be victorious." 

 

A few hours later he came into the brownstone, dejected and frowning. 

"How was your quest?" Joan asked. 

"Not as satisfying as I thought." He muttered, sitting heavily down at the table. "He lives in a basement in his parents house and smells of cheetos." He sighed. 

Joan pushed a mug of coffee towards him before walking out of the kitchen.


	6. Chapter 6

Joan walked into the brownstone with Marcus behind her. 

"You going to be okay, Joan?" Marcus asked, tugging at his tie. Joan had held herself together through the entire funeral and she knew that Marcus was waiting for her to show some emotion. Grabbing the coffee, she began making a pot, trying to sort out her feelings. 

"I just...I can't believe he's-" She froze and narrowed her eyes. There was someone moving in the living room. Grabbing one of Sherlock's cudgel sticks, she put a finger to her lips. Marcus, followed, pulling a gun out of a hidden holster. 

"It's only me." Sherlock stepped out of the living room. Marcus and Joan gaped at him. He looked at their weapons. "You may now lower your..." He motioned the gun and stick. "Did you bring a gun to my funeral?" 

"Yes." Joan growled. "That's the big question here." 

"You're ALIVE?" Marcus shouted. 

"I faked my own death." Sherlock shrugged. "It was necessary for our investigation." 

"And yet..." Joan gaped at him, not believing what she was hearing. "You didn't think it was important to tell us?" 

Sherlock walked over to the kitchen and inspected the pot of coffee. "I wanted your emotions to be genuine, though judging by the lack of tears, I may have miscalculated." 

Joan's grip on the stick tightened as Marcus lowered his gun and holstered it. "As a police officer." He mumbled out of the corner of his mouth. "I can't condone what you're about to do, but as a friend..." He grimaced and stepped to the side. "You get two hits before I pull you off."


	7. Chapter 7

"Turn the light off." Sherlock shouted as soon as Joan walked into the brownstone. He was lying in the center of the living room on his back, staring straight at a point on the ceiling. 

"And you can't do it because...?" Joan asked, leaning against the door frame. Sherlock didn't so much as turn his head as he answered. 

"It is imperative that I remain in exactly this spot. I have done the calculations and if i get up to turn off the light, I will lose hours of work." 

"How long have you been lying there?" Joan asked. 

"About 3 hours." 

"What if I had had plans tonight?" Joan retorted. 

"Highly unlikely as you haven't had any in the last few months and have made no attempts to change your dry spell." 

Joan blinked and turned away. 

"That was not meant as an insult." Sherlock said quickly, obviously realizing his mistake. "It was simply an observation of fact, were you to make an effort, I have no doubt that you would have been busy tonight." 

"Is that your way of apologizing?" Joan asked. Sherlock's only response was to point in the general direction of the light switch. Joan sighed and flipped off the light. Instead of going completely dark, the living room glowed with hundreds of small dots made with glow in the dark paint. "What is this?" Joan asked. 

"An exact recreation of the sky the night of the murder." Sherlock explained. "I am lying in the exact position relative to the sky that the victim was."

"And the part over that that's moving is...a planet?" Joan pointed to the corner where a small dotted part was moving. 

"That's Clyde." Sherlock replied. "I thought it might help his self esteem." 

"Of course." Joan turned and walked towards the stairs, "how silly of me."


	8. Chapter 8

"Please don't take this the wrong way." Joan covered her nose and mouth as she walked into the kitchen. "But your cooking smells like paint thinner and hot garbage." 

Sherlock was standing over the stove, stirring a giant pot. 

"I am attempting to clean the flesh off the bones of our dearly departed victim." He motioned towards a face mask. Joan gratefully grabbed it and jammed it over her face. 

"The neighbor's dog was hit by a car, it was an accident." She said, her voice muffled by the mask. "And why are you using our stew pot?" 

"We have never once used this pot for stew." Sherlock replied. 

"But we might have, before you decided to use it for your science experiment." 

"Our dearly departed Rufus, here." Sherlock motioned to the inside of the pot. "Was murdered. His body was then thrown in the path of an oncoming car to make his death look like an accident" He looked at Joan. "This is very important to Timmy from down the street. He came in with a jar of pennies." 

Joan sighed. "And what will cooking the bones prove?" 

Sherlock used a serving fork to fish out some of the bones. Putting them on a cloth he'd spread over the counter, he examined them. "And there is our proof." He tapped the bone. "This is the poor creature's sternum and you'll note that there is a grove which indicates that-" 

"It was stabbed, pretty forcefully." Joan murmured. "What are we going to do?" 

"Well," Sherlock sighed. "We cannot allow the murderer to get away with it. After all, cruelty to animals is a sign of psychopathy." He pulled off his gloves. "I already know who the murderer is." He frowned. "I'm going to make it painfully clear that should she step out of bounds; I will lead the investigation and not show mercy." 

"She?" Joan asked. Sherlock looked at her with a pained expression. 

"I'm afraid the killer is undoubtedly Timmy's sister." He arched an eyebrow at the look on Joan's face. "It's the 21st century, Watson. Don't be so backward." 

"It's just..." Joan looked at the skull. "She's only 9." 

"I will speak to her parents." He grabbed his coat and paused at the door. "I'll clean up the..." He motioned towards the pot. "When I get back."


	9. Chapter 9

"Whale song." Joan remarked as she walked into kitchen. "I suppose this is connected to the aquarium murder." 

"Actually." Sherlock replied. "It's connected to the zoo murder." 

Joan's brow furrowed. "I don't follow." 

"They are connected." Sherlock said. 

"The same killer?" 

"No." Sherlock said, tilting his head and swaying slightly in time to the whale song. 

"No..." Joan said slowly. 

"The two killers are in competition with each other." 

"And the whale music...." 

"I find it soothes me and helps me access parts of my mind that are usually cluttered when I'm fully alert." He motioned at his head. 

"Well." Joan dropped a file in his lap. "Enjoy listening to Shamu, but when you have the time, you might want to have a look at that...we may have narrowed down who the aquarium killer is."


End file.
